Gentrification

by Abe Berglas

Last year I lived in Mile End, and as I packed to move out, businesses around us shuttered. Montreal is changing around me since I arrived 5 years ago and it feels like even the rate of change is picking up.

The first to go, a good month before the typical July 1st lease date, was the bar at the corner of our block: Bar Waverly. I never went inside, but it seemed reliably packed Friday and Saturday night. The first thing I noticed when it closed was the quiet on weekends, the absence of young people spilling out onto our sidewalk. Next was La Catrina. I had gone twice to this restaurant, although I've never paid for a meal. I went once with my parents, and once with my roommates' parents. When I went with my parents, we sat outside on the terrace. It let them breathe in the atmosphere of my new home. I noticed the "A vendre" sign on Le Jardin Du Cari shortly after. There's still no telling what the end of that story will be.

But these losses pale to Maestro cafe. It's the ground floor of stylish hexagonal apartments. There are windows on two sides. The natural warmth of sunlight is supplemented by an overflowing collection of plants near the cash. On the counter, there's a high basket of freshly baked baguettes, available for individual purchase. Also on this counter is a bowl of oranges, presumably the ones used for the fresh-pressed orange juice. I've spent many minutes examining the chocolate bars on display as I wait for my order. These seem purely decorative. By one window, there are small tables, each with two wooden chairs. My favourite spot in the cafe is the table furthest from the door along the window, where the wall (or more accurately, the line of plants next to the wall), the counter, and the window make a nook. Along the other window is a higher counter and stools. There's a surface for your feet to rest so that they don't dangle. This is the prime people-watching spot. Deeper into the cafe come the long tables lined with benches. The benches have a high back and are deep enough so that I could curl my legs into them, or sit in other creative postures. Above one long table is the TV, playing forever softly into the room.

The most distinctive feature of Maestro cafe is the man working there, who my roommate and I assumed was the owner, until he mentioned someone else when talking to me about the outdoor patio. He is the heart of the cafe. He quickly memorized my order, and he became one of the few people I truly enjoy small-talk with. As news of Trump progressed on the TV, we would commiserate together about the dire political situation. I was never able to predict the traffic of the cafe. Workers often came in for lunch, for the sandwiches made on fresh baguettes. I even saw the cafe worker barter with a pizza-baker down the road, for a trade of lunches. I only now realize that I don't know his name.

Spring has been marked by news of tariffs and unemployment. The TAL-approved rent increase is at 5.9 per cent this year, one of the highest in the last few decades. Unemployment in Montreal has been creeping upwards from 6 per cent in 2023 to 8.5 per cent this May. I never thought Maestro would be touched. What did they do wrong? It had a loyal customer base - my roommate and I must've spent a few hundred with our weekly trips, at least - and consistent traffic. It was a cafe for tourists and for locals. It was a third space for the anglophone and francophones, the construction workers and the artsy students.

Soon, when I return to visit the area, it may be unfamiliar. The places I spend my time, the things I took for granted as fixtures of the area, will crumble and be replaced. I want to warn whoever takes over the spot of Maestro cafe that, if Maestro cannot succeed, neither can they. Their entrepreneurial enthusiasm will be decayed by the unforgiveness of capitalism. Or maybe Maestro just isn't keeping up with the times. Alphabet Cafe is always crawling with customers, so much that I feel claustrophobic just peering through their tinted windows. Apparently they have a large presence on Tiktok. It attracts outsiders with more money to spend on less. In a way, this move was a blessing. I wouldn't want to belong to a neighborhood that isn't meant to be lived in.